


I'm Not Broken

by vivi1138



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Asexuality, Brother Feels, Family Drama, Gen, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Acephobia, Kreacher is awesome, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138
Summary: Sirius is gone, and it's up to Regulus to carry on the family legacy. What should, at worst, be a mild annoyance for someone who understands his obligations, becomes a living nightmare. When Regulus finally snaps, what can he do but follow in his brother's footsteps? A tale of self-discovery, reconciliation and understanding.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black
Comments: 7
Kudos: 86





	I'm Not Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [nearingexistence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nearingexistence) for the sensitivity-check, and to [lastontheboat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastontheboat) for being my beta for this story!
> 
> A word on the tags: Regulus uses derogatory terms to refer to himself and his asexuality before he understands what's happening to him. The implied child abuse refers to his and Sirius' childhood and Walburga's methods of punishment. It does not contain details.
> 
> Prompt#71:  
>  _Ever since Sirius runs away from home, Regulus is being pressured to marry and have an heir. The more his parents talk about it and bring in potential brides, the more he realizes he never wants to marry, or date, or have sex. He opts to leave home too, and try to find Sirius, hoping he'll be accepted by his brother._

The swirl of milk in a teacup created quite a calming sight. Regulus took great care in ensuring his spoon wouldn’t hit the porcelain, the gestures keeping his mind busy. He needed the distraction.

“Are you listening, Regulus, dear?”

Mother’s simpering voice sent a shiver down Regulus’ spine. He glanced up and met her cold gaze, feeling like the walls of the parlour were closing in on him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, Mother. My apologies.” Hand as steady as possible, he took a sip of his tea and paid attention to the discussion between Mother and her visitor, quiet, but alert as was expected of him.

He couldn’t look at the girl on the other couch. He kept his gaze directed to the wall behind her. Like so many before her, she must’ve been lovely, with delicate hands, perfect skin and elegant bearing. She’d be pale; Mother would never approve of any sort of mixed heritage. Black hair, most certainly, and from a long line of Purebloods. The words Mother spoke sounded like a buzz in his ears, but he forced himself to focus on them.

Marriage. Duty. Honour. Heir. Lineage. Concepts he’d been vaguely aware of as he grew older. They’d never been expected of him until Sirius ran away. Now, he understood that for his brother, they hadn’t been vague at all, but hammered into his skull from early childhood. He’d been groomed like any dutiful son should be, but he’d escaped it all, and now Regulus was left to pick up the pieces. Mother didn’t lose any time. Barely a week after burning Sirius off the tapestry, she’d turned her attention to her youngest son—her respectful, obedient, Slytherin boy. She’d put the fate of the family on his shoulders.

Regulus’ only escape that summer was returning to Hogwarts. For the first time, he’d understood the pressure Sirius had been under, and perhaps even what had made him snap. He’d watched him from the shadows; carefree, loud, brash—a heartbreaker. If Mother could see him, she’d kill him. Regulus still admired and loved him, but he’d buried his feelings so he wouldn’t suffer anymore. He’d been hurt enough when Sirius abandoned him—long before Sirius ran away. Sirius’ irrational hatred of Slytherin caused an irreparable rift between them. How odd that it had never been a problem with Andromeda, who had been sorted in Slytherin too.

Now, Regulus was stuck in his brother’s place. Meeting girl after girl, and fearing, more than anything, that if he didn’t choose a bride, his parents would pick one themselves.

The very idea of getting married had never appealed to him; he’d never even thought about it before being forced to contemplate it. Now that he couldn’t avoid it, he felt trapped, scared and alone. He couldn’t bear the thought of fathering a child, of touching or kissing anyone, even once. Images flashed into his mind, aided by his House-mates’ indecent descriptions or the noises he’d always tried his best to ignore.

He couldn’t do it, yet he would have to. Tears stung his eyes. He waited until the visit ended and excused himself, claiming he had a headache.

The hallway to his room had never seemed as dark and unwelcoming as it did now. Judgemental portraits stared at him, whispering about every little detail they could spot, like a crease on his robes. He’d learned how to hide his emotions; his mask of indifference was Mother’s pride and joy. Should he falter, the portraits would know.

He stopped in front of his bedroom door, then turned around, and entered his brother’s room. A Stinging Hex lingered in the doorway, remnants of Sirius’ great plan to punish intruders. Regulus hissed between his teeth and stepped closer to the window. Wet snow formed a thin layer of sludge on the ground below and bore down on the frail trees. A raven, perched on a curved branch, fluffed its feathers and croaked.

“If I were an Animagus, I’d like to be a bird,” Regulus murmured, breath fogging the glass. He drew a frowning face with the tip of his finger, then looked around.

Sirius had left without his belongings. The bed wasn’t made, clothes littered the floor, and those infuriating Muggle pictures still hung on the walls, taunting Mother and Father, disrespecting their values. Sirius shouldn’t have provoked Mother; he should’ve known better. Then perhaps he wouldn’t have doomed Regulus to hell.

Regulus was sixteen now. If he’d been born in a different family, he wouldn’t be expected to marry until his twenties; but this was the Black family. He’d be contracted to wed, then presented to the Dark Lord, even without Grandfather Arcturus’ approval. Merely offering financial and political support should be enough, but Regulus wouldn’t have a choice. It wouldn’t even be too difficult. It wasn’t like he disagreed entirely with the Dark Lord’s views. The idea of kneeling in front of him appealed to him a lot more than finding a wife. But Mother had told him about the importance of having children to not only carry on their legacy but also to do the Dark Lord’s bidding—and the Dark Lord himself would order him to procreate.

It was hopeless.

He sat on his brother’s bed, inhaling a cloud of dust in the process, and stared at the Gryffindor-red canopy, coughing his lungs out. His eyes stung again.

What in Morgana’s name was wrong with him? Did anyone else have these visceral reactions to the thought of themselves being intimate with someone? He didn’t think so. His House-mates had been talking about girls since Second or Third Year, and Regulus thought he was just slow. It’d change someday, right? He’d agree with them about McKinnon or, Merlin forbid, Evans. He’d stare at the form-fitting Muggle clothing some of the Mudbloods and Half-Bloods wore, and he’d cast Silencing Charms on the curtains around his bed at night. He’d squirm in his seat when moving pictures of scantily clad ladies would travel around the Common Room. He’d find common ground with his group of friends at the Beltane Ball, as this was the one time of the year when Pureblood women showed cleavage, the young, unmarried ones often dressed in nearly translucent fabric. Or, like Barty, he’d be attracted to men. He’d fantasise about being pinned down on a bed. Yes, one day, he’d grow up, and he’d be normal.

He let out a watery laugh. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t a child anymore; something was odd. Broken, that’s what he was. He stifled a sob.

Kreacher appeared with a loud pop. “Master Regulus is being sad!”

With a sigh, Regulus looked at his old servant—his friend, even if he couldn’t speak of him in this way to anyone. They wouldn’t understand. It was yet another thing that made Regulus different. Affection for one’s elves was unseemly. Mother tolerated it when he was younger because if he spent time with Kreacher, he wasn’t bothering her, but she’d been eyeing him suspiciously when his interactions with Kreacher didn’t turn cold as Regulus grew older. Even Sirius had been vile to the elf, for Merlin’s sake, though Regulus could admit that Kreacher hadn’t been an innocent victim in their fights. Their hatred for each other was legendary.

“I’ll be all right, Kreacher. Thank you for worrying.”

“Kreacher is thinking that Master Regulus is having a headache and needs to lie down.” The elf stared at the walls in disgust. “But not here, no no, not in nasty blood-traitor’s bed, Kreacher will not have it!”

Hugging his legs and resting his chin on his knees, Regulus bit his lower lip. He noticed a picture of Sirius and Potter sneaking up on an unsuspecting Lupin with jars in their hands, and he couldn’t help but wonder what memory was attached to it. The infamous Marauders reserved their good pranks for themselves and people they approved of. Some of them had earned the grudging approval of Slytherin House, leading to endless fits of laughter once they were safely within the walls of their common room. It wouldn’t do for snakes to smile at anything the Gryffindors did, after all. Other pranks were far from amusing, however, and Regulus didn’t consider them jokes, just bullying. But again—just like with Kreacher—there were two sides to every story. He didn’t think it was fair to gang up on Snape the way they did, but he also didn’t believe in Snape’s innocence. He’d seen his notes; the spells and potions he invented would be useful for the Dark Lord.

It wasn’t Regulus’ place to judge. Sirius had called him a sneak and a snitch, and it was true, he excelled at remaining unseen. He’d make a good spy, maybe. No, scratch that. Regulus was too emotional, no matter how good he was at concealing his feelings. But that meant Regulus had observed his brother closely, trying to understand him, especially when he seemed to take pleasure in humiliating others. It struck him as strange; for a boy who rejected his family so strongly, he was scarily similar to Mother and Bellatrix. Or most of their family, really. Regulus was the soft one. Yet another bizarre thing about him.

He was a disgrace to the Black name.

As he felt a painful lump form in his throat, the image of his brother flashed in his mind, and he turned his attention to Kreacher again. “Do you think Sirius hates me?”

Kreacher, who had been mumbling about the state of the room and the smell of wet dog, wrung his gnarly hands. “Kreacher doesn’t like nasty blood traitor master, no he doesn’t, but nasty blood traitor master has taken Master Regulus’ punishment in his stead many, many times, yes, yes he has, and Kreacher would have slipped something in nasty blood traitor master’s tea if he hadn’t, but nasty blood traitor master spared Master Regulus some pain. Nasty blood traitor master is being a bad son, a bad, bad master, yes, but he is not being a bad brother.” Kreacher pulled on his dropping ears and kicked a half-chewed Quaffle (Regulus did not want to know) away from him.

Regulus’ heart clenched. He knew Sirius had protected him from Mother’s wrath, back when Regulus was the spare and Sirius the golden child. But would he still do it today? Regulus shook his head as if it could help erase the whispers in his head, the ones that told him he should run away.

He didn’t listen, but he wanted to.

###

The whispers grew stronger after the Ministry Ball that next Friday.

They turned to screams at Narcissa’s wedding, when Bellatrix dug her nails into Regulus’ shoulder, introducing him to a man he’d only ever heard of until now, making him kneel. I can bring honour to my family, Regulus thought, if I take his Mark.

The whispers became wails, and he went home that night, knowing time was up.

Mother was ecstatic the next evening. Father, on the other hand, believed Regulus shouldn’t be anyone’s servant, but he admitted that the House of Black would benefit from a closer association with the Dark Lord. Regulus found his dinner tasteless as his parents argued about the conditions they’d require in exchange for Regulus. He felt like a piece of meat being sold on the market.

“May I leave the table?” he asked when Father tried to convince Mother that he shouldn’t be on a battlefield.

Mother’s calculating smile made him shudder. “Do be ready to leave early tomorrow, dear.”

Dread filled him, but he schooled his features into a blank mask. “Will we be visiting anyone?”

“Well, we are meeting your future spouse, of course.”

He’d naively thought he still had some time. A stubborn part of himself had been convinced he would be safe, and he’d be going back to Hogwarts in a few days, where Mother couldn’t involve him in her schemes. His breath hitched. “I don’t understand.”

“My attempts at finding you a match have been unsuccessful; your father and I have thus discussed the matter with Silas Travers and have learned of his granddaughter’s betrothed’s passing. Such a dreadful event, is it not? Yet we cannot miss such an auspicious opportunity. We are heading to Gringotts in the morning to sign the contract.”

He could say no. He could yell and refuse and let his parents know how he felt. But he knew Mother’s methods; he recognised the dangerous glint in her beady eyes, the way she looked at him like she was aware of his turmoil and was waiting for him to slip up—it wouldn’t work. She’d use the Imperius on him instead. She’d even resort to a will-sapping potion if she noticed anything amiss.

So, he didn’t say a word about it. He wished them a good night and headed upstairs, counting each step to keep from collapsing. His legs shook, their strength sapped by fear.

He locked himself up in his brother’s room. The Stinging Hex caught him in the neck this time, but he didn’t care. He stood there, motionless, numb.

He didn’t ignore the whispers anymore and called for Kreacher.

“Master Regulus is scaring Kreacher, always calling Kreacher in this room, yes he is. What can Kreacher do for Master Regulus?”

Regulus knelt in front of him and grabbed his frail shoulders. “Kreacher, you’re the only one I can trust with this. Will you keep my secrets?”

The outrage on the elf’s face was almost comical. “Kreacher would rather die than betray Master Regulus!”

“Even if it means lying to Mother? To Father?”

Kreacher hesitated, then nodded so fast his face was a blur. “Kreacher will. But Mistress can order Kreacher to speak, and Kreacher cannot lie, Master Regulus, even if Kreacher wants to.”

Regulus’ shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry, Kreacher. I don’t want to order you to lie, she would torture you for the truth—” he frowned, and his gaze lingered on the Gryffindor scarf wrapped around the bedpost. He tugged on it, and it came loose. Then he looked Kreacher in the eye. “Trust me, please. Don’t wail, don’t scream, don’t disappear.” He held out the scarf towards the elf, and Kreacher whimpered.

“No! No, Master Regulus, please don’t free Kreacher, Kreacher will do anything!”

“Take it, and I’ll bind you to me again.”

Shaking like a leaf, Kreacher shook his head.

“Please! It’s the only way. I can’t keep you safe if you’re still serving Mother.”

“Master Regulus wants to keep Kreacher safe? Kreacher is the one who needs to do that! Kreacher is being a bad elf!”

“Take it. I order you.”

This command seemed to cause Kreacher immense pain, and Regulus felt tears run down his cheeks. The elf obeyed, reaching out gingerly to take the scarf, and his saggy, wrinkled skin turned grey. He could barely breathe. Regulus thanked every god he’d ever heard of, because he knew what he was doing, and wouldn’t cause his oldest friend’s death. “Kreacher, I offer you sanctuary. I give you a home. If you accept, you will serve only me. Do you accept this bond?”

Kreacher’s voice wobbled. “Kreacher accepts.”

There was a bright flash of light and a rush of wind, and the tension in Regulus’ body disappeared. Kreacher threw himself at him and sobbed, tears drenching Regulus’ robes. “It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re my elf now.”

The walls of Sirius’ room were Charmed to prevent noise from escaping. Mother’s work, to avoid her eldest son’s musical discoveries. Today, they came in handy, but Regulus still couldn’t risk being heard: he let Kreacher cry, but each wail made him paranoid. It only took a few minutes to calm him down, yet it felt like hours.

“Master Regulus is a good master!” The elf sniffled, drying his eyes with the back of his hands. “Kreacher is proud. Kreacher wonders if Master Regulus will also put Kreacher’s head on the wall one day.”

“Maybe. Kreacher, we don’t have time. We need to leave.”

“Is Master Regulus running away with Kreacher in the dark of the night?”

Regulus couldn’t help but snort. “I have to; I can’t stay here, or I’ll never be happy.”

Kreacher seemed to ponder the information, and perhaps it was an illusion, a trick of the light, but he looked less miserable, and even a bit younger. A renewed magical contract might do that to a creature that fed off magic.

In the end, Kreacher nodded. “If it makes Master Regulus happy, Kreacher will run away into the darkness with Master Regulus.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry, this is the only way to keep us both safe. I know you love the Black family.”

“Kreacher will always choose Master Regulus! Master Regulus has no idea what lurks in the outside world. Kreacher will protect Master Regulus.”

Regulus didn’t need to order him to stay quiet about their venture, not anymore. So, he stood up and took a deep breath. “Pack my Hogwarts trunk. We’ll go when Mother and Father are asleep.”

Kreacher vanished, and Regulus noticed he’d kept the scarf. Well, he supposed he would have to resign himself to a Gryffindor-clad House Elf.

###

Regulus hadn’t thought this through, and Kreacher was a lifesaver. Grimmauld Place may have been in a Muggle street, but it didn’t mean the Blacks ever stepped outside. No, they took the Floo or Apparated straight in and out of the house. Regulus was now standing in a dark alley, in the middle of Muggle London. He couldn’t use magic without being found by the Ministry, couldn’t visit Uncle Alphard—he was utterly lost.

Then he stepped out of the alley and almost got hit by a roaring four-wheeled monster, but Kreacher grabbed him and Apparated.

“Master Regulus is lucky Kreacher has a functioning brain,” Kreacher announced with a wry look.

They were in a field, and the stars were out. Regulus admired the bright light of Polaris, finding it soothing. When the grass brushed against his legs, he shook himself and followed Kreacher, who was grumbling under his breath. It was familiar, and Regulus needed that. He stayed close to him as they walked out of the field and onto a narrow dirt road.

The moon was high in the sky by the time they stopped. They’d gone over two hills with the trunk floating behind them, and Regulus had trouble keeping his eyes open. He was a good kid who went to bed early. A late-night walk after such an emotional evening did help, though. Kreacher didn’t say it, but Regulus believed he’d done that on purpose.

He still had no idea where they were even after they stopped at the edge of a warded property. He felt like he should have known, but he didn’t, and it worried him. Where had Kreacher brought him? It wasn’t like he’d asked for a specific place. The house was small and covered in plants, and it looked Muggle. Its guardian seemed to be the four-wheeled monster sleeping in the garden.

“Kreacher, who lives there?”

“Master Regulus is needing a bed, but Kreacher can’t bring Master Regulus to nasty blood traitor master tonight.” He made a strange gurgling sound and his voice changed, turning from grumpy to ecstatic. “Nasty blood traitor is no longer Kreacher’s master! Kreacher is loving Master Regulus’ rebellious streak.”

“You’d have brought me to him?”

“Master Regulus has no idea what Master Regulus is doing, and Kreacher is thinking—”

“Who’s there?”

Regulus almost fell face-first into the wards. Light flooded the front porch, and he caught himself on the low wall surrounding the house. His eyes widened at the sight of a wand pointed straight at him, held by none other than—

“Andromeda?”

Her answer was almost inaudible. “Reggie?” She relaxed her stance but still kept her wand in her hand. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?” She spotted Kreacher and frowned. “Why are you here?”

He found his voice, but it wasn’t as steady as he’d hoped. He hadn’t seen his cousin since she was disowned, and she was still so young when that happened—he remembered her as a teenager, yet she stood here, a grown woman, looking like a sane version of Bellatrix. He felt very small. “I need help.”

“Show me your arm.”

He understood her wariness, but it still hurt. He rolled up his sleeves and bared his forearms, then felt the tingle of a revealing spell on his skin. Andromeda then stepped aside and let him through the wards.

For the first time in his life, Regulus set foot inside a Muggle home.

###

He woke up with a sore shoulder after a night on a small, worn-down couch, and found himself face to face with a little girl with rainbow hair and a—was that a snout?

“You snore. Like Daddy. Once, I put a shrimp in his nose to make him stop.”

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and sat up, baffled. Memories of last night came back to him, dissolving his confusion as his vision cleared. She must be Andi’s daughter. He didn’t even know she’d had a child. “Please don’t put anything up my nose” was the only coherent response he could give.

He learned her name—Nymphadora—and saw her change the colour of her hair five times in one minute. He was then introduced to the wonders of non-magical showers (and what happened when someone used cold water from the same plumbing system) and was told that there was no way to appease the house guardian, as it was only a car and wasn’t alive. Nymphadora explained, in quite a patronising way, that Muggles weren’t cavemen, and Regulus found himself thoroughly chastised.

He still hoped he’d never meet a Muggle, though.

He almost had a heart attack when he discovered Kreacher wearing a yellow flowery dress, a straw hat and sunglasses, and found out the little bugger had only accepted to let Nymphadora play with him because “Master Regulus needs to smile more”. It brought him to tears, and he locked himself in the bathroom for a while after that.

“You need to write to your grandfather,” Andromeda told him when he came back.

Regulus shivered. “Why? He’ll send me back!”

“Look, I understand you don’t want to talk about why you left, and I don’t need to know. I can guess. But Walburga and Orion won’t let you disappear.”

He’d left them a message telling them he refused to bow to the Dark Lord or get married, so he was hoping Mother had blasted him off the tapestry by now. But Andromeda shook her head and served him a cup of tea, then sat beside him at the kitchen table and held his hand. She’d done that when he was small and scared. He felt like he was five all over again, and he choked up when he realised how much he’d missed her.

“They let Sirius go because they had you, but that won’t work a second time. You’re the only one left. If you try to hide, they’ll be ruthless in their search for you, and believe me, they’ll fight. I will not have them on my doorstep; worse, they could send Bellatrix. Arcturus is the only one who can order them to leave you alone.”

“He’ll want me to marry.”

“Perhaps, but he will step in when it comes to Voldemort.”

Regulus stared at her, wide-eyed. Was she insane? Rumour had it that the Dark Lord planned on making his name Taboo. Before he could realise that he was revealing a war secret he’d only gleaned from listening in on a conversation, he’d blurted out a warning, and Andromeda grinned and hugged him. He squawked in surprise. No doubt she would warn the Dark Lord’s opponents.

Why did he feel so relieved?

###

Grandfather’s response came after Mother’s letter, which Regulus hadn’t read. In the meantime, he’d been introduced to Ted, who was the most Hufflepuffish Hufflepuff he’d ever met. The man was acting like Regulus hadn’t been using slurs to describe his kind all his life. He’d introduced him to the house guardian (Regulus didn’t care if it wasn’t alive, he still thought it was powerful and sentient), and showed him his collection of history books, delighted to have something to share. Then Regulus had discovered that half of those books were Muggle and he’d thrown one of them on the floor, stepping away from it, convinced it was cursed, which, in hindsight, made no sense whatsoever. But Ted just picked it up and didn’t falter, and soon Regulus was reading about the birth of the Roman Empire and didn’t want to stop.

The letters came just as he was taking a break.

Grandfather’s congratulations at refusing to bow were surprising; his offer, not so much. Regulus knew everyone would think his oddities would pass, so he didn’t explain why he didn’t want a wife. Grandfather must’ve assumed he was still childish or liked men, but he didn’t expand on it. He only requested that Regulus name an heir before his thirtieth birthday. Regulus panicked—and Ted helped him breathe through it. But what choice did Regulus have? Perhaps he’d find a way to become normal by the time he was old enough.

When he sent his reply, it didn’t feel like a victory.

Andromeda noticed and hugged him, before murmuring in his ear: “Come with me. I’ll bring you to Sirius.”

###

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

Well, Sirius definitely took after Mother when he sneered. It almost made Regulus flinch; but then Euphemia Potter hit the back of his head with a rolled-up Daily Prophet. “Young man, I will not tolerate such language in my house. Be nice to your brother.”

Sirius stepped back, glowering from the shadows, and Regulus shook Fleamont Potter’s hand. James was watching quietly, suspicion clear on his face, but Andromeda’s presence and Euphemia’s smile reassured Regulus. He still wished Kreacher had come with them.

“Regulus ran away from home,” Andromeda said lightly once the Potters invited them in. Sirius barked a laugh and Andromeda narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I’d be there with him if it wasn’t true?”

“What, you expect me to believe that Mummy’s darling little boy, the baby Death Eater, the sneak, turned his back on his family? You’re telling me you let him find you, maybe even talk to your daughter, when he calls Ted a Mud—”

“SIRIUS ORION BLACK YOU WILL MIND YOUR MANNERS IN THIS HOUSE!”

Now the flinch was shared between all three boys, and it was James who ended up telling Sirius that maybe, just maybe, he should listen to what Regulus had to say. It was a testament to the strength of their friendship that Sirius didn’t snap back at him, and it hurt Regulus to see that he had found another brother to love instead of him.

Sirius was gritting his teeth so loudly that Regulus could hear them from his seat. The tension only worsened when an idle remark about turning Andromeda’s house into a target left Sirius’ mouth, and Euphemia finally had enough. She took Sirius aside, and Regulus watched, curious, but he couldn’t hear their exchange.

Euphemia then beckoned him to move closer, and he did, somehow terrified of her. He let her push him and his brother into the parlour and heard the click of the lock on the door when she left them alone.

Sirius crossed his arms and tilted his chin up in defiance. “Well? Speak, then.”

He didn’t want to anymore. He glanced down, finding it easier to breathe if he didn’t look at his brother. He didn’t notice it at first, but avoidance wasn’t enough to prevent a panic attack.

His brother’s voice lost its aggressivity; now it sounded exactly like it used to when he’d helped him calm down after a nightmare. The dark spots dancing in Regulus’ field of vision slowly disappeared, and he found himself panting, crouched on a soft carpet. He gasped for air until he no longer felt like his lungs would never accept oxygen ever again. His hair fell in his eyes, and he heard Sirius asking a question; he nodded in response but didn’t register what had been said, not really.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally looked up. Sirius sat cross-legged in front of him, one hand firmly clenched around Regulus’ ankle, grey eyes wide with a mixture of fear and regret.

Oh. So, all it took was breaking down like a bloody toddler to gain his approval? Good to know. At least Sirius was quiet; it was like he was waiting for something—ah, of course. It was Regulus’ turn to speak.

“They want me to get married, and I don’t want to,” he blurted out. It sounded bratty when he said it.

Sirius frowned, but he didn’t say anything. So, he knew how to listen. Who would’ve thought?

“I—I ran because I needed to see you, but I’m not going back. They’ll find out—” he sucked in more air, “they’ll figure out I’m broken.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, and a little smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “Reg, I know we’re fucked up kids with a fucked up family, but you should own your fucked-upness. Look at me, aren’t I awesomely fucked up?” He flexed, and Regulus’ eye twitched.

“Sorry if I don’t find it funny,” he muttered. “And that’s not what I mean anyway.”

“If you don’t tell me, how am I supposed to know?”

“If you stop interrupting me, maybe I will!”

When Sirius didn’t utter another sound, Regulus exhaled loudly. “I don’t want to get married because it means I’d have to sleep with someone and I can’t do that, and I never want to do it.” He closed his eyes, waiting for a barking laugh that didn’t come. When he peeked through his eyelashes, he found his brother looking at him, quiet, no trace of judgement on his face. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me it’s just a phase?”

Sirius shrugged. “Can’t tell you that. It might be, but it might not. That doesn’t make you broken.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand you don’t want sex or a relationship. Is that it?” Sirius waited until Regulus nodded. “Okay, so, I’m not good at this. Look. I don’t want sex with women. The thought is just really unappealing to me. But I want it with men; that doesn’t make me broken, that makes me gay. So we just need to figure out what it makes you if you don’t want it at all. Do you like cuddles?”

Regulus thought about all the times he’d cried himself to sleep in his brother’s arms, all these evenings in the common room with Barty running idle fingers through his hair because Barty needed to keep himself busy to quieten his mind—he thought of platonic intimacy and how he couldn’t picture himself in any other situation. He told Sirius that yes, he liked cuddles, and he hated how his cheeks burned at the admission, like being a Black made it shameful.

“Good, and what about yourself? How’s the plumbing?”

Regulus choked on air and coughed his lungs out. “What?!” he croaked, massaging his throat.

“How’s Tiny Reggie doing? Stiff? Slightly bendy? Surprisingly swishy? Flexible? Sup—”

“Stop!” Regulus groaned, convinced that his face was hot enough to cook an egg on his skin. “Are you comparing my—equipment to a wand?”

“Cock, knob, trouser snake—”

“Please don’t refer to it as a trouser snake.”

“Parsnip.”

“What in Morgana’s name are you on about?”

“Pocket rocket.”

“What’s a rocket?” Regulus shook his head. “Stop, I get it, you’ve swallowed a thesaurus. Yes, everything is working in that department!” He sent a furious glare towards his grinning brother.

“I’ve swallowed something, but it wasn’t a book.”

“SIRIUS!” The grin grew even larger, and Regulus considered finding an actual thesaurus to throw at his head. “You’re not helping.”

Sirius’ expression turned unusually serious, and no, Regulus would never say it out loud. Then Sirius clapped and startled him.

“I’m sending a letter to Remus.” He hesitated. “That’s fine, right? Can I tell him?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “As if I’d trust you with research.” Lupin wasn’t a bad sort; Regulus wished he’d step in when his friends went too far, but he was a bookworm, very similar to Regulus himself. If they’d been in the same House, they might have been friends. As it stood, Lupin was at least civil with him. He even apologised when he ran into him in the library and made Regulus’ tower of books fall from the table, unlike the others, who just laughed, Sirius included.

A knock at the door interrupted the growing silence that was starting to feel uncomfortable, and Potter’s specky face intruded on them, before yelling, “They’re still alive, Mum!” and winking at them. Regulus counted every second until Sirius stood up and a wave of relief washed over him. That painful conversation was over for now.

###

Mother didn’t appreciate Grandfather’s involvement but was powerless when it came to familial matters. Regulus could bet that she’d been screeching like a banshee, and considered himself lucky that she found Howlers distasteful. He had no wish to receive one in the Great Hall and hear the colourful names she’d find for him. She’d been quite creative when it came to Sirius, after all, but only used them in the privacy of their home.

Sirius, on the other hand, was smart enough to keep from visiting Regulus’ compartment on the Hogwarts Express. The Marauders also left his year mates alone, leaving a bitter taste in Regulus’ mouth. He felt like the reprieve would be temporary.

When Lupin ambushed him in an alcove on his way to dinner, his instincts screamed at him, and he reached for his wand. He only lowered it when Lupin showed him his empty hands. “Did Sirius send you?” he asked, doing his best to avoid staring at the scars on the boy’s face. They weren’t ordinary—they were claw marks. They made him uneasy, and he had a pretty good idea of what kind of monster had left them. The rational part of his brain tutted at him every time he wondered about it because it made no sense that he’d be allowed in Hogwarts if—oh, unless he hadn’t been bitten. Yes, that must’ve been it.

“I found something,” Lupin said. “Meet me in the old Alchemy lab after dinner?”

He agreed without a word, too shocked to speak. There was a giddiness deep in his chest, a strange excitement that made it difficult to appreciate the meal or to take the usual precautions when it came to roaming the castle alone. Slytherins moved in pairs. Never alone. Yet he didn’t ask Barty to come, and that simple act was like a rebellion in itself.

The flames of the lone torch flickered and sent shadows on the stone walls while Lupin spoke. The stuffy room dampened every sound, including his voice, and Regulus was fascinated by the Alchemic equipment left behind, finding it a suitable distraction when Lupin lost himself in a diatribe on gender history, which had nothing to do with Regulus’ issue. Then Regulus heard two words—monosexual and asexual—and the world around him dissolved into nothing. He found a single focus: Lupin’s voice.

Sirius, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet all along, wrapped an arm around Regulus, bringing him back to reality, even though he was still dazed.

“That’s me,” he whispered. “I’m—I’m not broken.” It felt like being outside after weeks of rain when the sun finally shone on his face. Like watching the small stem of a plant peek through the dirt and unroll its small, fragile leaves on the first day of its life above the ground. Regulus started crying, and he hated himself for it, but by Merlin, he was just so relieved!

He wasn’t abnormal, there were others like him—here and now, he dared to hope, and the future already looked brighter.

Lupin’s discoveries didn’t explain everything, and the term asexual was still new, but it made so much sense, and it opened up more possibilities—if there was a word for it, then there would be one for his aversion to romance, too. Maybe it didn’t exist yet; perhaps Regulus would need to create one, and keep it close to his heart.

He thanked Lupin with an eagerness that, he knew, made him sound very much like a Hufflepuff.

Ted would approve.

###

_Several years later_

A sudden crash and a string of curses startled Regulus, who expected Mother’s portrait to start screaming about filth and blood traitors—but then he remembered tearing the wall down, and the brief flicker of fear vanished. He sighed in relief. A tug on his robe made him look down at the blue-haired toddler who stared at him with his huge hazel eyes, sucking on a dummy adorned with tiny snitches.

“Yes?” he drawled, hiding his amusement.

“Egg! Up!”

“One day, little wolf, I’ll expect you to know my name.” He crouched down and wrapped his arms around his cousin and heir, then held him tight and left the nursery. He didn’t step on a toy this time and thanked Merlin for small favours.

Walking down the stairs with a small child still scared him, despite the numerous protective spells layered into each step. Years ago, he and Lupin had worked on them to ensure Harry Potter’s safety, once Mother had passed and Regulus decided to move into Grimmauld Place. He’d needed a bigger place than his flat if he were to raise the Boy-Who-Lived.

As he passed by the drawing of stick figures on the wall, he smiled, nostalgia gripping his throat in a vice.

In 1985, the Wizengamot finally agreed to give Sirius a trial. By the time his brother was free, Regulus had already set up their childhood home and volunteered to take care of Sirius. Azkaban had done heavy damage to his mind and body, but not as much as expected—because his insane sibling was an Animagus, and Regulus shouldn’t have been surprised. The only problem was that a free Sirius came with a five-year-old child who’d been neglected, despised and traumatised, and Sirius was in no shape to take care of him. Regulus learned to parent while redecorating and child-proofing the entire house.

With Andromeda, Ted, Lupin and later Sirius and Nymphadora, Regulus succeeded and eventually sent a happy and healthy Harry Potter to Hogwarts.

Said Harry Potter looked a bit worse for wear today, with bags under his eyes and soaked clothes, but he grinned when he spotted Regulus in the hallway. Teddy almost fell from Regulus’ arms by bouncing up and down in glee.

“HAWWY!” The dummy fell on the carpet.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Harry kissed the werewolf’s spawn on the nose, and Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Ever heard of drying charms?”

Harry stuck out his tongue at him, picked up the dummy and grabbed his godson after casting a wordless spell on his clothes. “Yes, dad. I got something you’ll be interested in.”

Intrigued, Regulus followed him into the living room—all in white, dark brown and pastel, an abomination to Mother’s eyes, surely (also, white was the worst colour ever if one happened to live with a small child). On the wall, next to the fireplace, a series of portraits smiled or snored, sending a pang straight through Regulus’ heart. Nymphadora’s blew a bubble of pink gum and winked at him, her hair matching her son’s today; beside her, Lupin’s benevolent gaze was soothing. In the next frame, Arcturus was playing chess with Dumbledore, who for some reason enjoyed visiting random paintings within Grimmauld Place to torment its inhabitants in his spare time. At least it wasn’t Snape. Lined up on the left side of the hearth, Euphemia and Fleamont slept peacefully, and those were the few portraits Regulus had kept. Every other memory was sealed in magical or Muggle photographs, because Regulus, Harry and Sirius refused to forget anything or anyone. From James and Lily’s wedding pictures to Harry’s first trip to Diagon Alley, from Regulus and Sirius’ first steps to Teddy’s first birthday, they were all here, even the one that Cousin Draco hated with a burning passion because it depicted him wailing after Harry caught the Snitch when they were seven years old. Not every picture elicited melancholy, but each of them had the same value for their little family.

Two wars had taken their toll, and Death hadn’t been kind. Regulus found comfort in the fact that he hadn’t lost Sirius and that Harry had only been dead for a minute after giving himself up, but it wouldn’t erase the grief he felt each time he held Teddy, who looked so much like Tonks. Regulus missed her dearly.

Kreacher popped into existence to serve tea, having chosen to wear the faded Gryffindor scarf again today. “Master Harry broke the vase Kreacher hates, Kreacher wants to celebrate, but Master Harry dragged mud into the hallway, yes he did, so Kreacher will put all of it in his bed.” With a poisonous glare, he disappeared, and Regulus tilted his head at his brother’s godson.

“What did I tell you?”

Harry blushed and bounced Teddy on his knee. “I’ll bake his favourite lemon biscuits later. But look!” He contorted and twisted his body until he found a piece of Muggle paper in the back pocket of his trousers. “Hermione printed this.”

Regulus opened the folded sheet and winced at the horrible sight. His only experience with the Internet came from whatever Harry’s Muggleborn friend printed for him, and it did not look pretty. This one was barely legible, black and white on checkered background, using a font that would make any quill user shudder. And then he saw the title and smirked. “ _Asexual-asexuals: those who say no to romance_ ,” he read with a sneer. “That sounds ridiculous. No, let’s wait a few years, and they’ll find a real word for it. But thank you, Harry.”

“Why don’t you introduce your own term, then? Aromantic sounds so much better!”

“I have no interest in making any sort of wave in the Muggle world. I’m satisfied knowing that my family understands who I am. Now, you mentioned lemon biscuits?”

Teddy yelled something about biscuits, and that was the end of that conversation. As Harry left the living room with the little boy, Regulus kept the piece of paper in his hand and thought back on his growth—how he’d learned to stop caring about people’s opinions, how his sexuality was nobody’s business, and even how the Dark Lord’s views he’d agreed with were a load of codswallop. It had been a slow process, but Nymphadora had dragged him through it as soon as she was old enough for it. He remembered long conversations in front of the fireplace when Regulus felt inadequate about every single thing in his life; a teenaged Nymphadora would sit with him, offer him a cup of cocoa and wrap him up in a warm blanket. She’d tell him about her friends at Hogwarts, those who didn’t quite fit in; she’d speak about their struggles and how, little by little, they learned to accept themselves. As years passed, she visited more often, and she always told him to keep his head up.

The memories made him smile as he looked at the portraits.

“I told you it would get better,” Nymphadora said as if she knew exactly what he was thinking about.

A warm glow settled in Regulus’ chest. She’d been right all along.


End file.
